


the desperation murmur of a heartbeat

by slytherincosette



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Child Abuse, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Let Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy) Say Fuck, No Incest, On the Run, Protective Siblings, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Running Away, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Love, Sober Klaus Hargreeves, [gerard way voice] KEEP RUNNIN, au where five never goes forward in time, dolores is a mannequin possessed by the soul of a dead girl from the forties, five is Trying His Best, i can't believe i have to tag that omfg, kind of, no luther hate in this fic we will protect ALL traumatized children in this house thanks, or get stuck in the apocalypse, she has a crush on five, they're runnin away boys!!!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-11-14 15:39:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18055289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherincosette/pseuds/slytherincosette
Summary: Five makes it his job to protect his siblings, because God knows no one else is going to do it. Instead of jumping forward in time, testing the limits of his powers, he stays. He stays, and he stitches his broken little family back together. And then, one day, they run.-au in which (most of) the hargreeves siblings run away at age sixteen and do their best to make it on their own. only they're not really on their own, because they've got each other.





	1. leaving home

**Author's Note:**

> i am so incredibly excited to share this with you guys! i'm REAL bad at summaries so hopefully you get the gist of this story lmfao. if not, maybe give it a try anyway? i listened to a lot of green day while writing this. title and lyrics are from jesus of suburbia!!

_they say home is where your heart is,  
but what a shame,  
because everyone’s heart doesn’t beat the same. _

It starts with Five.

It starts with a knife stabbed into the table, an outburst that has the rest of the kids ducking their heads, trying their hardest to be as invisible as their father usually makes them feel. Nobody speaks out against Dad. Even Klaus, arguably the loudest and most antagonistic of his siblings, lowers his gaze and follows Dad out of the room when it comes time for his _special training_ , with shaky hands and a bitten-through bottom lip.

Dad is always right. Dad knows what’s best for you, even when you don’t understand his reasoning. Dad is only trying to help you reach your full potential.

Five thinks Dad is full of shit.

He doesn’t storm out the front door like he so desperately wants to. Instead, he meets Vanya’s eyes. She shakes her head. Five counts to ten. Walks stiffly back to his chair, sits down. He scoots the chair forward with a loud, purposeful screech. 

Across the table, Ben winces. Dad levels Five with a cool, disinterested gaze. Five stares back. Neither of them blink for the longest time; a quiet stand-off. Distantly, ridiculously, Five thinks of the old westerns he and Vanya used to watch on the tiny TV in their barren recreation room. 

Finally, ten seconds and a lifetime later, Dad looks away.

Klaus’ eyes nearly bug out of his head. He stares at Five, mouths, “ _Holy shit._ ”

It starts with Five.

Two weeks later, Klaus misses breakfast. As they stand behind their chairs, Diego asks, “D-D-Dad, where is Klaus?”

“You know the rules, Number Two,” Dad says, and there’s a sharp edge to his voice, “No talking during breakfast.”

Five thinks that’s the end of it. They sit down, six pairs of eyes flicking uneasily toward the empty chair between Allison and Ben. Mom stands behind Dad, smiling vacantly.

And then Diego--quiet, stuttering, eager to please Diego--squares his shoulders, lifts his chin, repeats, “Dad. Where is Klaus?”

The silence that follows is deafening. Mom’s blank smile turns a little stiff around the edges. Vanya’s panicked eyes meet Five’s, and Allison stares at her pancakes like they hold the secrets to the world. Luther takes a long sip of his orange juice, gaze flicking towards Diego nervously.

Dad sets his fork and knife down very carefully, precise as always. Piercing eyes fall on Diego, who, to his credit, holds his ground. Five’s a little impressed, to be honest. He didn’t think Diego had it in him. 

“Your disrespect will not be tolerated, Number Two,” Dad says, in a disappointed tone that Five knows will cut Diego to his core. Sure enough, Diego flinches. It’s nearly imperceptible, but Dad notices. He always does. He hones in on weakness like a rabid dog stuck on the scent of decay. Like a shark searching for blood in the water. “You will return to your room at once, without breakfast.”

Diego’s face burns red. He stands on shaky legs and flees from the dining room.

Five makes a decision.

“I’m not hungry,” he announces, to no one in particular. “May I be excused?”

Dad’s face goes a funny shade of pink. “No, you may not.”

“Okay,” Five says. He meets Ben’s eyes across the table before promptly teleporting into the hallway. He’s close enough to hear Dad swear, and for a second, he’s afraid his father will come storming out and tear the whole goddamn house apart to find him.

Not that Five couldn’t just keep teleporting around until he gave up, but that sounds like a lot of work and Five has a mystery to solve, so.

He’s about to jump upstairs when he hears Vanya clear her throat. Something like delight bubbles up in the pit of his stomach when she asks, “May I please be excused to go to the bathroom?”

And, well. Dad can’t really say no to that, can he? Sweet, silent Vanya never causes any trouble. He has no reason to believe she’s lying. Five waits a beat, listens to his Father sigh. “Yes, Number Seven. You may go to the bathroom.”

“Thank you,” Vanya squeaks out. Footsteps, and then--

Five grabs a hold of Vanya’s arm, and teleports the both of them onto the staircase. He’s still getting the hang of jumping with other people, and even that short distance makes him feel woozy. He shakes his head, clears his mind, says, “Something’s wrong with Klaus. I know it.”

Vanya reaches out to steady him, expression gentle. “Okay,” she agrees, because Vanya trusts him implicitly and it never fails to make Five feel like the most important person in the world. “Let’s go find him.”

They tiptoe up the stairs, careful to avoid the creakiest steps, and hurry down the hallway. Diego is already there, palm pressed flat against Klaus’ bedroom door. His head snaps up at the sound of their footsteps, relaxing minutely when he realizes it’s only Five and Vanya. The suspicion still apparent in his eyes makes Five’s stomach turn uncomfortably.

Of all the things their father has done to them, turning them against each other might have been the cruelest.

“I was just going--”

“I really don’t care,” Five tells him.

Vanya elbows Five in the side, adds, “We just wanted to see if Klaus is okay.”

Diego tilts his head to the side, just a little, like he’s trying to see if he’s heard them correctly. Five feels vaguely offended. A beat of uneasy silence, then, “Me, too.” He sounds uncertain, a little confused.

“Fantastic,” Five says flatly, “Glad we’re on the same page.”

“You don’t have to b-b-be a d-dick about it,” Diego snaps, bristling more with every stutter. He’s frustrated, and worried, and probably still embarrassed from getting chastised in front of their entire family. In front of _Luther_. Five sighs.

“You’re right.” He pauses, mutters, “I’m sorry.”

Vanya squeezes Five’s elbow encouragingly, which is how he knows he did the right thing. She makes up about eighty-six percent of his moral compass.

Diego pauses, clearly thrown off. “Th-thanks,” he says, the dip between his eyebrows making his surprise obvious. 

Before anyone can say anything else, Klaus’ door flies open. He stops short at the sight of the three of them hovering in the hallway, brows shooting up into his hairline. “Well, shit,” Klaus says, “I was just stepping out to piss. Are you throwing a hallway party without me? Because that’s fucked up. You know I love to party.”

None of them reply, because they’re too busy staring at the sling around Klaus’ shoulder. Five likes to think he’s a rather observant person, and that _definitely_ wasn’t there yesterday.

“Klaus,” Vanya starts. She stops herself, presses a hand to her mouth.

Klaus laughs uncomfortably, eyes darting between the three of them nervously. “Yes, Vanya, dear?”

“What the hell is that?” Five demands. Beside him, Diego crosses his arms and stares Klaus down.

“This old thing?” Klaus gestures dramatically towards the sling with his non-injured arm. “Just a fashion statement, you know, to prove that I really _can_ wear anything--”

“So if it’s just a f-fashion st-st-statement, I can punch you in the shoulder and you’ll be fine, right?” Diego asks, sounding decidedly unimpressed. Five realizes in that moment that life might be a little more fun with Diego on his side. He makes a mental note of it and swiftly refocuses.

Klaus takes a pointed step back, says, “Christ, Diego, must you always resort to violence? I’m a peaceful, _sensitive_ creature, you know--”

“Klaus,” Vanya says again, and something in her tone seems to break down whatever was left of Klaus’ resolve because to Five’s complete and utter horror, his injured brother’s eyes start to well up with tears.

“Fuck,” Klaus says, wiping at his face angrily, “Just. Just come in before Dad hears.”

He turns on his heels and walks back to his bed, settles gingerly on the edge. Diego gestures for Vanya to go in, to which Vanya replies with wide eyes and a minute shake of the head. She gestures for _Diego_ to go first, which makes Diego sputter quietly for a moment. Five rolls his eyes, mutters, “Ridiculous, the both of you,” and follows Klaus inside.

He hears the both of them scramble in after him, hears one of them gently close the door. “What happened to your arm?” Five asks, because bedside manor has never particularly been his forte. 

Klaus squeezes at the bridge of his nose with pinched fingers and shakes his head, lets out a watery laugh that sounds a little hysterical and _far_ too grown up to be coming from a thirteen year old. “It’s nothing, really. Just a mishap during training, so Dad excused me from breakfast so I could rest. Really very kind of him, you know, all things considering.”

“We d-didn’t train yesterday,” Diego accuses, arms crossed tightly against his chest.

Vanya takes a hesitant step forward. Klaus meets her eyes briefly before looking away, nervous and twitchy as ever. “Did he make you do something alone, Klaus?”

The temperature in the room seems to drop about forty degrees. They all know about Klaus’ private training sessions, the ones that leave him white as a sheet and jumping at the slightest of noises for days afterward. Dad forbids them from asking where Klaus goes, what he’s made to do. He only ever says that it’s _very important work_ , sending significant looks at Luther and Diego like he’s trying to convey that their positions at the top are in jeopardy should Klaus ever reach his full potential.

That’s Dad, for you. Always pitting his strongest children against his most vulnerable. Survival of the fittest, like just being in this family means living by some weird Darwinistic code. Maybe it does, Five allows, thinking of the way Vanya never makes direct eye contact, never speaks unless spoken to.

( _Except for today,_ Five thinks, and for a moment he’s filled with such an intense pride he almost buckles under it.)

“I, um,” Klaus says, fingers tapping out a rapid pattern against his thigh. His eyes dart to the corner of the room for just a second, and Five wonders who else is in the room with them right now. “I had one-on-one training, yeah.”

For a moment, something like jealousy passes over Diego’s face before concern overtakes it. Five feels a surge of pity for reliable little Number Two, but it’s fleeting, because Five _knows_ what goes into Dad’s psychotic private training. The last one Five endured had him throwing up from exhaustion, being forced to push past his limits again and again and then _again_ until his body all but gave up.

Looking at Klaus now--the tremor in his hands, the haunted look in his eyes, that goddamn sling--Five knows that one-on-one training has not been kind to him, either.

“What did he make you do?” Five asks, tries to keep his voice level. He is not a gentle person, not by any means, but he does have the ability to recognize when certain situations require a certain amount of tact. If Klaus feels cornered, he will shut down, turn sarcastic and nasty and _mean_ , and that’s about the opposite of what they’re going for.

Klaus swallows thickly, avoids meeting any of their eyes. “He, um, well.” He makes a frustrated little noise in the back of his throat, throws a pillow across the room at nothing. Not nothing, Five corrects himself. Just something the rest of them can’t see. “Would you shut the fuck up?” Klaus demands, desperation clear in his voice, “I can’t fucking _think_.”

“K-Klaus,” Diego says quietly. He crosses the room and settles down next to his brother, careful to avoid his injured arm. “Focus on me, o-o-kay? Just tell us what happened.”

For a moment, Klaus looks stricken, like this foreign, unearned kindness is going to backfire spectacularly if he allows it to continue. Then, he nods once, just a jerk of the head. “It was stupid, how I got hurt. Seriously, you guys are going to laugh. It was just...so fucking dumb.” Klaus tries for a smile, but it falls flat. He ducks his head. “Dad’s been, um, locking me in the family mausoleum for training? To try and help me get over my fear of ghosts. What an oxymoron, right? A medium who’s afraid of the dead.

“It kind of backfired, though, because surprise, I developed claustrophobia! So last night Dad thought maybe a more open space would work better, so he shut me in the graveyard on the edge of the property. Only I kind of panicked and dislocated my shoulder trying to squeeze through the bars.”

A few seconds pass. None of them speak, until Klaus lets out a nervous laugh that turns halfway into a sob on the way out. 

Diego immediately reaches out, settles an arm around Klaus’ shoulders carefully. He looks uncomfortable, clearly not used to any sort of _positive_ physical contact, but it seems to be exactly what their brother needs because Klaus leans into the touch like he’s starving for it. Maybe he is. Vanya settles down on his other side and takes his free hand in hers.

Five can’t do anything because Five can’t see past the cloud of hot, red anger that settles over his entire body until he’s shaking with rage. “I’ll kill him,” Five says, and his tone leaves no room for argument.

Klaus, of course, argues anyway. “No, Five, you can’t say anything.” His eyes are bright with unshed tears, desperate and impossibly sad. “I’m okay, really! Mom popped it back into place and I didn’t even wince. I was a total badass about it.. Shoulder’s just sore, I’ll be good as new in a few days.”

“That’s not the point,” Five bites out, and Klaus flinches. Fuck. He’s not good at this. Vanya offers Five an encouraging smile, which means he’s at the very least on the right track. Five takes a deep breath, says, “I’m sorry. I’m just angry. He can’t _do that_ to you. To any of you.”

Luther was named leader of their little band of vigilantes. Number One in Dad’s dead, shrivelled little heart and Number One in the eyes of the public. Luther was given the title, but Five notices the way the others often defer to him instead. Watches as Luther’s eyes darken when Klaus or Ben or even Allison asks, “What’s the plan?” and directs it at _Five_.

He takes it to heart. Makes it his job to protect his siblings, because Lord knows no one else is going to do it. Dad certainly won’t, and Luther’s too much of a good little soldier to realize the _damage_ their father is doing.

Now, Klaus and Vanya and even Diego are all looking up at him, expectant and waiting. Their eyes ask _what’s the plan?_

“It’s not going to happen again,” Five says, resolute, “I won’t let it.”

And so the next time Dad announces that bedtime is pushed up half an hour and grabs Klaus harshly by the elbow, Five stands up.

“No.”

All eyes in the room fall on him, but Five stands strong. Their father’s expression is steely, cold. “Excuse me, Number Five?” 

“You’re not taking him,” Five snaps, and before Dad can say anything, he jumps to Klaus’ side and grabs him by the arm, jumps the both of them across the room. Klaus stumbles but Five steadies him, trying desperately to stay upright himself. The world around him sways, but it’s better than it used to be. He’s been training, jumping all over the house with Vanya so he could be prepared in case something like this happened again.

Dad doesn’t know he can jump with other people, yet. Thinks its something they’re working towards together, because Five can’t possibly be strong enough on his own. 

But he is, he _is_ strong enough, and he takes an insane amount of pleasure in watching Dad’s face go white, tight-lipped. Allison actually gasps, eyes darting between their father and Five like it’s some sort of tennis match. Luther has the gall to look affronted on Dad’s behalf. 

Klaus holds onto Five’s arm tight enough to bruise. The silence stretches on for a full minute before Dad nods once, says, “Children, go to bed.”

The rest of his siblings flee from the room, shooting worried (or in Luther’s case, annoyed) glances over their shoulders. Klaus and Five remain like sentinels in the center of the living room, backs straight and eyes daring. For one fleeting moment, Five swears he sees something like fear flicker across Dad’s face. Like he knows, _he knows_ how dangerous they could truly be if they decided to band against him.

Maybe that’s the real reason he’s kept them apart, kept them fighting. If they were together, truly together as a _family_ , they’d be unstoppable. 

“Bed, Number Five, Number Four,” Dad repeats, but the authoritative tone falls flat in the face of two defiant teenagers.

Five smirks. “Anything you say, Dad. Night.”

“Night,” Klaus echoes, sounding a little shell-shocked. Five settles a hand on Klaus’ shoulder and leads him away, free hand resting casually in the pocket of his stupid shorts. They get all the way up the stairs before Klaus stops. He turns to face Five, expression unreadable, and then--

And then he’s hugging Five. Jesus Christ.

“Thank you,” Klaus whispers, arms tight around Five’s neck. 

A few seconds pass, and then, slowly, Five brings his arms up to settle around Klaus’ middle. Hugging is strange. He doesn’t even _remember_ the last time someone hugged him, which, now that he thinks about it, sounds depressing as all hell. 

“I told you I wouldn’t let it happen again,” Five tells him, almost conversationally. Klaus just nods against Five’s shoulder, and Five is nice enough to ignore the tears soaking through his blazer.

Dad doesn’t try to take Klaus for private training after that. He doesn’t take _any_ of them for private training, as far as Five knows, which is an unintended result, but a positive one nonetheless. They train together as a unit, as a family, and the fight for the top position slowly morphs into something like teamwork. They don’t shove each other down to try and get to the top; they pause if someone stumbles. They help their fallen sibling stand back up.

Still, Five takes his job as protector seriously. The things he has to fix are _smaller_ now, but that doesn’t mean they’re not _important_. 

On the days Allison is tired, feeling a little worse for wear, Five takes control of the stupid interviews Dad makes them do, pasting on his most charming smile and redirecting questions like a true PR dream. When Klaus gets sent to bed without dinner for insubordination, Five sneaks him as many crackers and fruit snacks as he can stuff in his pockets. When Vanya gets left out of missions, of training, Five makes it a point to sit and listen to her play the violin for as long as she’ll let him.

What Five _doesn’t_ expect is that his siblings start to reciprocate. When Dad pushes Five too hard in training, leaves him gasping on the floor, Diego holds out a hand and picks him up, half-carries him up the stairs and then stays with him until he falls asleep. When Dad singles Five out, berates him for being so _crass_ and _rude_ and just generally disappointing, Ben grabs ahold of his hand and squeezes. 

Luther remains just on the outskirts of their fragile little unit, no matter how many times Allison tries to drag him in. He’s too devoted to their father, too brainwashed to see that his siblings _love him_ , that they want to help him. And so he shakes off their attempts at comfort and isolates himself, trains harder and longer. Continues his disappointed lectures when any of them so much as _look_ at Dad the wrong way. He’s losing what little grip he had on them. He knows it, and he resents them for it.

It takes three years for things to come to a head. Three years in which things start to get better, day by day. Five should have known it couldn’t last.

They are sixteen, just a few days shy of their seventeenth birthday. Their house is still a hellhole, their lives are still nightmarish, but they have each other to keep the demons at bay. Five spends the vast majority of his time dumping Klaus’ pills down the toilet and talking Diego down from straight-up murdering Luther, no matter how tempting it may be to just fucking let him. He and Vanya stay up most nights in Klaus’ room, helping him learn to block the dead out. It’s trial and error, but it’s getting better. Slow progress is still progress. 

It’s one of those nights when it all goes to shit. Klaus is sitting on his bed criss-cross applesauce and looking impossibly small as he shrinks away from whatever is surrounding him. Vanya sits beside him, singing soothingly and without a pause because it helps for Klaus to have something to focus on, and his sibling’s voices seem to be what works best. Five tries valiantly not to feel touched, but. Whatever.

“Focus on Vanya,” Five whispers, because it’s well after curfew, “You can do it, Klaus.”

The working theory is that Klaus’ powers operate remarkably similar to that of a ouija board, which Five has done a truly ridiculous amount of research on. He is essentially a gateway to the spirit world. In order to turn it off, to find some semblance of _peace_ , Klaus needs to close the door. The problem is, Klaus’ entire existence is essentially the equivalent of taking your hands off the planchet without saying “goodbye” and letting the dead spill out like water.

Klaus squeezes his eyes shut, just as his hands start to glow blue. His palms are out flat, his newly-acquired “goodbye” tattoo shining a blinding white while his “hello” stays firmly black. Klaus had originally gotten them as a joke (and as a way to piss off their father), but it had given Five an idea. If Klaus had a channel for the energy pouring out of him, would he be able to control it?

Five is very proud to report that his theory is rapidly progressing into a full-blown answer.

The door cracks open and Allison, the lookout, whispers, “Guys. Someone’s coming.”

“Shit,” Five swears quietly. Vanya stops singing, and Klaus stops glowing. “How much time--”

“Number Three, what _are_ you doing out of bed?”

The sharpness of their father’s voice slices through them like a butcher’s knife. “Shit,” Five says again. Klaus reaches out and grabs ahold of Vanya’s hand. They’re all frozen in place, varying degrees of fear displayed across their faces. 

“I was just going to the bathroom,” Allison says, voice light and sweet, “You just surprised me. Sorry, Dad.”

For a moment, it seems like it’s going to work. That’s why Allison makes the best lookout; she’s the best liar.

And then--

“Please step aside, Number Three. I wish to check on Number Four.”

“ _Shit._ ” Five says.

The door opens forcefully, a vindicated look settling over Dad’s face as his gaze settles on Vanya and Five, awake and exactly where they shouldn’t be. Just over his shoulder, Allison looks devastated, mouths _I’m sorry._ Five just shakes his head, because it’s not her fault. They all knew the risk, and decided that helping Klaus was worth it.

“Number Five,” Dad snaps, “Explain yourself at once.”

“Dad, I--” Klaus starts, but their father holds up a hand to silence them.

“You will be dealt with shortly, Number Four,” he says, and Five can pinpoint the exact moment Klaus’ blood turns cold. There’s nothing but pure terror in his eyes, something a father should _never_ evoke in their own fucking child. 

“Don’t touch him,” Five bites out, “It’s not his fault, or Vanya’s. It was my idea.”

“No,” Klaus argues, stubborn and stupidly brave, “I asked them to help me, I’m the reason they’re out of bed--”

“Shut _up_ , Klaus, let me handle this--” 

“I’m not going to let you keep getting punished for us--”

Vanya stands up, takes a few steps closer to their father. Her voice is gentle, attempting to appeal to the better nature Dad doesn’t have. “Dad, please, we were just--”

Dad backhands Vanya across the face, and Five sees _red._

“Do not speak unless spoken to, Number Seven!” Dad roars, “I will _not_ be disrespected by your or your pathetic siblings again!”

Vanya cries out, in pain, in anguish. In desperation. Klaus leaps off of the bed and pulls her into a tight hug, fingers combing through her long brown hair. She clutches at his pajama shirt and sobs. Allison flies into the room, grabs ahold of Five’s sleeve to keep him in place because she _knows_ , they all do, that Five is about three seconds away from committing patricide.

“To bed, all of you!” Dad demands. He turns away, unbothered by the state of distress he’s left his sons and daughters in. 

“Five,” Allison says, urgently, “ _Five._ ”

Dad has done a lot of horrible, unforgivable things. He is a wicked man, filled to the brim with enough hatred and self-righteousness to rival a serial killer or even a terrorist, maybe. He is, indisputably, a bad person.

But he has never laid a hand on them. Not like that.

Something in Five breaks. His resolve, maybe. His self-control. He straightens, forces himself into mission mode, because emotion has no place in logic. He has to _think_. Gently, he removes Allison’s hand from his arm and turns around. Klaus is still wrapped protectively around Vanya, who is still crying. She’s so tiny, head barely reaching Klaus’ shoulder.

Five makes a decision.

“Allison,” he says, and he impresses even himself with how calm his voice sounds, “Go get Diego and Ben. We’re leaving.”

“Leaving?” Klaus demands, incredulous, “Where are we going?”

Allison hesitates. “Not Luther?” she asks, softly, like she already knows the answer.

Five shakes his head, stomach turning momentarily sour. “He’ll only try to stop us, or rat us out. We can come back for him when he’s...when he’s ready.”

Allison nods, because she gets it. She hates it, and it hurts her, but she gets it. She’s always been the sibling whose mind works the closest to Five’s. Pragmatic, logical. A little cold, sometimes. She disappears into the hallway, determination written all over her face.

“We’re getting out of here,” Five says. A pause, and then, “Vanya. Vanya, are you okay?”

Vanya lifts her head off of Klaus’ chest, with tear-stained cheeks and the saddest of smiles. “I’ll be fine, Five. I always am.”

Allison returns, followed by two out of the three of their remaining siblings. Ben blinks a few times to let his eyes adjust, asks, “Vanya? Are you crying?”

“Dad hit her,” Five says simply.

Diego’s eyes go impossibly dark. “I’ll kill him.” He turns on his heels, but Ben reaches out and traps him with a gentle hand on his wrist. 

“We’re leaving,” Five repeats, “Take five minutes and pack what you can.”

“Where are we going?” Ben asks. He doesn’t look particularly surprised, or even incredibly phased. Just cocks his head to the side and waits.

Five sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “Anywhere is safer than here.”

They gather their things quickly, as efficient as if they were preparing for a mission. Luther sleeps soundly in the room at the end of the hall, and Five watches Allison pause outside of his bedroom, watches her press her palm against his door and sigh. Then, she shoulders her bright pink backpack, tips her chin up, and walks resolutely back to Klaus’ room.

Five grabs what he needs, which admittedly isn’t much. There’s his money stash, from years of taking twenty bucks here and ten bucks there from Dad’s “hidden” safe in the basement, because a giant lock is not enough to stop someone who can literally teleport. There’s his favorite book, his notes on Klaus’ powers, his notes on his _own_ powers, and the little stuffed giraffe Mom gave him on his fourth birthday. 

It’s not much, but all he really needs are the people huddled and waiting for him in Klaus’ room.

“Everyone hold hands,” Five instructs, “I’m going to jump us out of here.”

“Five, you can’t,” Vanya frowns, “You’ve never jumped with more than one person.”

“If we go out the front door, he’s going to catch us,” Five tells her calmly, “And I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to find out what dear old Dad will do in his desperation to keep his precious Umbrella Academy together and under his thumb.”

The silence that falls over his siblings is answer enough.

“Right,” Five says, and he cracks his neck. Klaus makes a face. “If I pass out, just don’t leave me in an alley somewhere. We good? Great.”

And they disappear into the night.

_i won’t feel any shame, i won’t apologize  
when there ain’t nowhere you can go.  
running away from pain when you’ve been victimized,  
tales from another broken home._

__


	2. little runaways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the response to this story has been amazing and crazy and overwhelming in the best possible way!! your comments are so kind i'm just ajkda;fjd thank you!!! here is the next chapter, i hope you enjoy! lyrics are from "things we lost in the fire" by bastille!

_we were born from nothing  
and we sure as hell have nothing now_

Five feels his feet land solidly against concrete, and his vision immediately blacks out. Unintended consequence of a split-second decision, but whatever. He can adapt.

“We should be in the alleyway next to the deli across the street,” Five says, trying his best to keep his voice level. On top of losing his sight, he feels dizzy, off-center. A little light-headed. He holds on a little tighter to Ben’s hand and very pointedly does not move, for fear of tripping and falling flat on his face. “Can someone confirm?”

“We’re in the alleyway next to the deli,” Ben says, and Five can almost _hear_ his concerned frown. 

“Can’t you see?” Allison asks.

“No,” Five answers simply. Klaus swears loudly from somewhere to his left. 

Ben’s hand tightens around his, and someone else’s fingers come up to grip around his other elbow. He can tell it’s Diego by the vague, tangy smell of metal. It’s oddly comforting.

“Shit,” Allison says, “Maybe we should go back--”

“No,” Five cuts her off sharply, maybe a little _too_ sharply. She falls silent, and a cutting tension settles over the group like a blanket. Five sighs. “Shit. Shit, Allison, I’m sorry. I just--this happens, occasionally. When I push myself too hard. Sometimes my vision goes, sometimes I pass out. Sometimes I just get dizzy. One time I was paralyzed for about half an hour.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “Dad just left me there.”

Beside him, he hears Diego suck in a harsh breath. He can’t see the others’ reactions because, well. He can’t see. But then Vanya reaches out, touches his cheek, and he knows its Vanya because she’s so gentle, so careful. “You never told us.”

“No,” Five agrees, “I didn’t. It’s not your concern.”

“Bullshit,” Klaus snaps from somewhere on Five’s right. If Five were a lesser man, he might have jumped at his brother’s sudden, uncharacteristic outburst. As it is, he only flinches minutely. Klaus sighs, softens his voice. “It’s our concern because you’re our concern. You’re our brother, Five. Christ, you’ve spent your whole life looking after us. Just let us take care of you for once.”

And Five would protest, but it seems that his body has finally decided to give up, exhaustion overtaking the adrenalin pumping in his veins. His legs buckle underneath him, head swimming and impossibly foggy. Diego catches him around the middle, chin knocking against the top of Five’s head. “I just need a minute,” Five manages to mumble, before the world around him sort of phases out. Someone calls his name, and Diego’s stubble scratches against his ear because he’s saying something, Five knows he is, but suddenly he can’t fucking hear. 

He thinks, _shit_ , and lets himself fall fully into the darkness.

-

Five wakes up to hushed whispering, cheek pressed against sticky upholstery. The air smells like sugar and coffee, and it makes his stomach churn. He groans and forces his heavy eyelids open, blinking into the fluorescents. He can see again. This is a positive development.

They’re in a diner, Griddy’s, not even a block from their house. They’ve been coming here for years, sneaking out in the middle of the night, shaking from the combination of midnight caffeine and sugar injections in the form of jelly donuts and the thrill of being out after dark, alone. The waitress, Agnes, is a sweet, middle aged lady who doesn’t ask questions. Just smiles and offers a quiet space for a group of kids with nowhere else to go.

The whispering halts abruptly, and Five immediately feels like he’s under a microscope. His siblings stare at him with wide, concerned eyes. It’s disconcerting and he wishes they would stop. 

“How are you feeling?” Vanya asks gently. She reaches across the table, lays her hand out palm up.

Five settles his hand over hers, offers a shaky smirk. “Never better.”

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Your vision’s back?”

“Yes.”

“Are you dizzy?”

“A little.”

“You should eat something.”

Five scoffs. “Okay, mom.”

Beside him, Diego stiffens, and fuck. They left mom. 

They had to. Five knows they had to, but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less. Maybe they can go back and get her, when they return for Luther. Maybe Five can figure out a way to deprogram her weird, unfailing loyalty to Dad so that she can be her own person. He knows she feels things beyond what she’s supposed to, emotions that Dad treats like viruses to be eradicated from her code. 

Five swallows thickly, rubs his free hand down his face. He feels seven hundred years old, with stiff joints and exhaustion seeping into his bones. “We need a plan,” he says, because he needs to feel in control. He is not, at his core, a spontaneous person. Finding himself as the unofficial leader of a group of teenage runaways was not how he intended to spend his thursday night, but he couldn’t stay in that goddamn house a second longer.

He knows he made the right decision, but fuck. This is going to be hard.

Allison slides a cup of coffee in front of him, says, “Drink first. You need to get something in you. We’ll figure it out.”

She stares him down, completely unimpressed when he tries (and fails) to intimidate her with one of his patented blank glares. He’s a little too preoccupied with the whole “stealing his siblings away into the night like some kind of fucked up Batman” thing to care all that much about his _nutrition,_ for Christ’s sake.

Ben peaks around Diego, puppy dog eyes out full force. “Five.”

“Fine,” he grits out, because Ben looks _sad_ and that is even less acceptable than not having a plan. He takes a long sip of coffee. It taste like happiness, but he will not give his sister the satisfaction of knowing that she’s right. Ben already looks a little too pleased with himself for being the one to crack Five’s resolve, and that won’t do. If his siblings know he has a weakness, they will exploit it and make him _do_ things, like eat meals at regular hours and sleep.

“We need a place to stay, at least for the night,” Diego says, and Five pointedly ignores the worried glance he finds himself on the receiving end of. “ _Some_ of us need to rest.”

“All of us need to rest, dipshit,” Klaus says around a mouthful of chocolate frosted donut, “All of this stress is not good for the baby. The baby being me.”

Ben snorts into his orange juice, which leaves Klaus looking stupidly pleased with himself. Five rolls his eyes and takes another sip of his coffee. He meets Allison’s eyes across the table, waiting for her to make some snarky comment about how much he seems to be _enjoying_ his _coffee_ , but she doesn’t. Instead, her expression is pensive. “If we can find a hotel, or even a motel--” She stops herself, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll handle it.”

Five watches her for a long moment before nodding tersely. Klaus lets out a low whistle. “What a gross and irresponsible misuse of your power, Number Three,” he says, in that creepy impression he has of Dad. Diego kicks him under the table and Klaus laughs, but it sounds high pitched, nervous. “ _That’s_ super illegal. Christ, I thought I was the only morally ambiguous one in the family.”

“You’re not morally ambiguous,” Ben says, voice bored, like they’ve had this conversation hundreds of times. “You just have zero impulse control and an inherent need to make the stupidest decision possible.”

“Jesus, Benny, tell me how you really feel--”

“Survival is a grey area,” Five interrupts, knuckles going white around the handle of his mug. “We do what we need to do in order to get by. As long as we don’t hurt anyone, what does it matter?”

“I feel like it matters a little bit,” Diego counters. He’s frowning a little bit, brain working a mile a minute to break through the strict lawfulness Dad instilled in him. Number Two, reliable and steady until the end. Not as far gone as Luther, but not without reservations. He’s like mom, that way. Programmed to obey.

The “greater good” can go fuck itself, as far as Five’s concerned. He was never cut out for this superhero bullshit.

Five sighs. “Look, Diego. I have about a thousand bucks. It’s not enough to get us an apartment, let alone a house. We can’t live on the streets, and none of us are going to be able to get a job without being recognized. Dad’s going to be chasing us down the second he realizes we’re gone. We’ll be on the run for a long time.”

“Five’s right,” Ben says quietly, proving once again why he’s Five’s favorite. “This is serious. It’s not just a fun little vacation. We have to use every advantage we have to figure out how to move forward.”

Diego nods, mostly to himself. Five settles a hand on his shoulder and squeezes, offers what he hopes is an encouraging smile. He’s not good at _encouraging_ , but he’ll try his best if that’s what his brother needs right now. 

“We need new clothes,” Allison says, gesturing pointedly to their matching blue pajamas. God, they look like a cult. “We can’t just go running around in our Academy uniforms.”

“I would like a skirt,” Klaus announces, to no one in particular. Ben pats his hand.

“Tomorrow, we’ll hit a department store.” Five says, mapping everything out in his head. He can see the lines crossing, point to point, the dots connecting. “Right as its closing, Allison and I will jump in, catch a worker off guard, rumor them into letting us take what we need.” He levels Klaus with a blank stare. “ _Only_ what we need. Understood?”

Klaus waves a noncommittal hand around. “Yes, yes. Toe the line of morality. Whatever.”

Five rolls his eyes, grips his mug a little tighter. “For now, we just have to get to a motel. Diego’s right; we need to rest.”

“And how will we get to a motel?” Allison asks. She doesn’t sound accusing, or unconvinced. Mostly, she just sounds interested. 

“We’ll steal a car,” Five says simply.

Diego lets his head fall against the table with a loud _thunk_. Behind the counter, Agnes shoots him a concerned look. Five sends her his most charming smile before turning back and letting it drop from his face completely. “How did we go from heroes to villains so quickly?” Diego asks mournfully. 

Five just barely resists rolling his eyes. Diego’s going through some sort of weird moral crisis right now, and Five is most definitely not the right person to talk him through it. He will never be able to relate, because nobility is boring and time-consuming. Five takes care of himself, and he takes care of his family. Everyone else is either a happy accident or collateral damage.

But Diego doesn’t need to hear that, because it won’t help. Worst case scenario, it’ll send Diego flying back to Dad. At best, he’ll look at Five like he doesn’t know him, the same way Luther does whenever Five says anything particularly callous. 

So Five shrugs, says, “It’s not like we’re robbing banks or anything.” He doesn’t say that robbing banks is most definitely an option they should consider, because the vein in Diego’s temple might actually explode if he does. Vanya’s expression is unimpressed, which means she knows exactly what he’s thinking. He sends her a sarcastic grin and continues, says, “Think of us more as....vigilantes.”

Might as well lean all the way into the Batman thing.

This seems to peak Diego’s interest. He picks his head off of the table and narrows his eyes at Five. “Vigilantes?”

“Yeah, you know,” Five waves a hand around vaguely, takes a sip of his coffee, “Sneaking around under the cover of night. Unbound by the laws of the common man.”

Vanya offers Diego an encouraging smile. “If you’re uncomfortable, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. We won’t leave you behind.”

“Yeah,” Klaus adds, “Just stand off to the side and glare disapprovingly. You’re not as good at it as Dad or Luther which, like, _I_ consider a virtue, but I’m sure with practice you’ll be able to--”

Diego throws his butter knife across the booth. It lands in the wall beside Klaus’ head, and it's quite effective in shutting their brother up. Ben rolls his eyes and reaches over, dislodges the knife, asks, “You know attempted murder isn’t legal, right? Or do you just have selective ethicality?”

“It wasn’t attempted murder,” Diego says, “If I wanted to murder Klaus, he’d be dead. There’d be no _attempt._ ”

“How reassuring!” Klaus exclaims, throwing a wadded up napkin at Diego’s head.

“You’re lucky the waitress was in the back,” Allison hisses, “We can’t afford to draw attention to ourselves! It’s not a cool party trick anymore, Diego, it’s a dead giveaway. We’re on the run, or did you forget?”

Diego scoffs. “Oh, like you couldn’t just fix it with one little sentence. What, having second thoughts about manipulating innocent people for personal gain? Because that would sure be a first.”

Allison gapes, eyes going glassy with unshed tears. Klaus’ hackles rise. “Oh, screw you, Diego,” he spits, one hand curling protectively around their sister’s wrist, “You think just because you’re Number Two you’re _better_ than us, but your self-righteous bullshit is gonna get us found out. You’re not the leader here, man.”

“Guys,” Vanya whispers, eyes shooting back and forth nervously.

“If anyone’s the leader, it’s Five,” Ben says, like he’s discussing the weather. 

Diego bristles immediately. “If we follow Five we’re going to get arrested!”

Five frowns, mostly because he’s offended that Diego thinks he would get them _caught._

“ _Guys,_ come on,” Vanya tries again, and Five watches as her face grows paler and paler, the red mark on her cheek a stark contrast to her anxious pallor. “We have to stick together.”

“Vanya’s right,” Five cuts in, just as Klaus is gearing up to throw another insult at their brother. Vanya smiles, grateful and brilliant. “We’re all we have. Fighting is pointless, and it won’t change the fact that we just ran away from our cozy mansion of a house with next to nothing. Life is about to get really fucking hard. We left to keep each other safe, and to be together. We’re a family, so get the fuck over yourselves.”

A pause, and then, “Wow. I think Five has officially reached his emotional quota for like, the year. Did that last jump fuck your head up? You’re acting like you _like_ us or something--”

Ben reaches out and smacks Klaus upside the head. “Not the time, dickhead.”

Diego lets out a little huff of a breath, mutters, “Sorry, Allison.”

Allison nods stiffly. “Apology accepted.”

Vanya looks at Klaus expectantly, and he pointedly avoids her gaze. Someone must kick him under the table because he yelps, forces out a _sorry, Diego_ through gritted teeth.

“Diego,” Five prompts, feeling every bit the goddamn kindergarten teacher he has apparently become. 

Diego sighs, long-suffering and inappropriately exasperated. “It’s fine. Sorry I threw a knife at you.”

Klaus sniffs. “Not like it’s exactly _new_.”

They leave soon after, grumbling and shouldering at each other on their way out. Five makes sure to leave Agnes a nice tip, because this might be the last time they see her for a while. It’s not like they can just go prancing around their old neighborhood where anyone could see. When the news breaks that the world’s youngest, trendiest superheroes have disappeared, shit is going to hit the fan. Five can only hope that Dad will be too embarrassed to admit his children ran away to tell the press just yet.

“So,” Klaus says brightly, clapping his hands together. “Grand theft auto. Where do we start?”

“I would assume by finding a car,” Five says, voice conversational.

Diego scoffs. “You would assume?”

Five levels him an unimpressed look and tamps down a sudden flare of annoyance. “Yes, Diego,” he grits out, “Contrary to your startlingly low opinion of me, I have never stolen a car before. Christ.”

Diego, at least, has the decency to look a little bit sorry. Five tries not to take it personally. They’re all stressed and tired and cold, traipsing through the streets of the city in pajamas that were not meant to see the outside world.

“What about that one?” Ben asks, pointing across the street at an unassuming little Honda. Five shrugs, because it's as good as any. Mostly, Five would just like to get this over with.

“I’ll jump inside, unlock the door--”

“Five,” Vanya says, “You know we could just...call a cab, right?”

Five considers this. “Huh. You’re right.”

They pile into the back of a cab about five minutes later, elbows sticking each other in places elbows shouldn’t be and complaining the whole while. Five ends up on Klaus’ lap and it's only mildly mortifying. The driver doesn’t say anything about six teenagers running around in the dead of night in matching PJs, just keeps his eyes straight ahead and asks, “Where to?”

“Closest motel,” Five says, trying valiantly to maintain a sense of authority while he’s sat on his brother’s lap like a fucking child.

“Please,” Vanya adds politely.

Klaus leans forward, rests his head against the back of Five’s shoulder. Klaus is a touchy person, craves near-constant affection, especially when he’s stressed. So Five does his best not to stiffen, and he allows the contact with only mild internal grumbling. 

(He tries to ignore how the touch seems to drain some tension out of his own body, alleviates the pounding headache behind his eyes, just a little.)

It’s only ten minutes before they’re pulling up in front of what Five can only assume is the seediest motel possible. “You kids be safe, now,” the driver says, and there’s a hint of worry in his eyes. He’s an older gentleman, probably thinking about how they remind him of his grandkids or some other sentimental bullshit. 

(Still, Five tips him well, if only for showing more concern for them in ten minutes than their father did in their entire lives.)

The cab speeds off, leaving them staring up at their temporary home. Allison takes a deep breath, and starts walking purposefully towards the entrance. Five follows her lead.

The man behind the counter is half asleep, reading a porno magazine. Five counts six crushed beer cans on his desk, and the whole office smells like weed. Whatever. At least he’s not likely to ask any questions. “Hey,” he slurs, “What can I--”

“ _I heard a rumour that you gave us a room for free_ ,” Allison cuts him off, voice sharp and determined. Beside her, Five shoves his hands in his pockets and smiles, feeling inordinately satisfied and very proud. 

The motel clerk blinks once, twice. Says, “Yeah, sure,” with glazed over eyes. He throws a set of keys to Allison, which she catches easily. 

“Thank you,” Vanya calls over her shoulder, as she’s shuffled outside by Diego’s hand on her upper back. Allison checks the number on the key and leads them up a rickety staircase, down a long outdoor hallway. Nobody says anything; it’s too quiet, too tense. Only crickets chirping in the dead of night, cars crunching over gravel in the distance. 

Allison wiggles the key into the lock, opens the door. “Home sweet home,” she says, dryly, surveying their shiny new kingdom. Two queen beds covered in ugly, floral sheets. A tiny TV on a wooden stand, next to a mini fridge that had clearly seen better days. One bathroom to be shared between six teenagers. Peeling wallpaper, grungy carpet, dust particles floating around like tiny stars.

Klaus pushes through the lot of them and flops unceremoniously onto the closest bed. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m fuckin’ beat. Also, three people died in this room, did you know? Fun!”

Ben drops down next to Klaus, lays his head on his brother’s shoulder. Klaus lets out a shuddering breath, hands twitching in his lap. He’s been sober for almost two months, cold turkey after Ben walked in on Klaus shooting up and worked himself up into a panic attack. Klaus had handed everything he had over to Five with red-rimmed eyes and shaky hands. “Get rid of it. Please. I don’t trust myself to do it,” he’d said, voice breaking. Five had accepted the drugs, the poison running through his brothers veins, and did what he was asked.

And if, after he’d gotten rid of Klaus’ stash, he needed a moment to collect himself, so fucking what? He was proud, okay, proud of his stupid brother for finally realizing what he was doing to himself, to his family. And he was kind of touched that Klaus had trusted _him_ , even when he couldn’t trust himself.

And so Five had offered Klaus a different sort of private training, one that actually helped instead of just plain old traumatized. They’d been working on closing off Klaus’ connection to the spirit world, even temporarily, since a week after Klaus’ turn-around (because withdrawal is no fucking joke and Five isn’t _that_ much of an asshole, thanks.)

They were so close, tonight. So close to a breakthrough. Five feels a flare of anger towards their father for fucking it all up.

“Let’s just go to bed,” Diego says. He sounds exhausted. Five looks back at him, at the bruise colored bags under his brother’s eyes, the tight lines of his face. 

“You look like shit,” Five offers. An olive branch.

Diego huffs out a surprised laugh. “Feel like shit,” he shoots back, then pauses. “You don’t look so hot yourself, either.”

“Don’t think we forgot you strained the fuck out of yourself by jumping with all of us,” Klaus mutters, one hand thrown dramatically over his forehead like a Victorian damsel. “You need to sleep, man.”

Ben reaches a hand out. “Bed,” he orders, voice and face soft.

Five sighs. His head is pounding, sharp and achy. His muscles protest with every movement, but he’s been pushing through because he didn’t really have a choice. Now, though, it feels like his body is rioting against him. Forcing him to stop.

He’s so fucking tired.

“Okay,” he says quietly, lets Ben pull him onto the ugly bed with ugly sheets. He falls asleep with Ben’s warm weight beside him, Klaus’ arm thrown across the both of them, feeling safer than he has in a very long time.

-

“ _Shit!_ ”

It’s Vanya’s voice, panicked and swearing--and Vanya _never_ swears--that has Five leaping out of bed, eyes wide and unfocused. “Vanya, Vanya, are you--”

Vanya appears in front of him, white as a sheet but _safe._ “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” she says in a rush, hands coming up to rest on Five’s shoulders. “But, Five...you need to see this. Everyone does.”

Luckily (or unluckily, depending on your view), Five’s outburst managed to shake everyone awake. Diego’s already out of bed, knife in hand, poised to fight. He relaxes minutely when he sees Vanya and Five together, harried but unharmed. Behind him, Allison sits up, sharp and ready. Ben’s eyes are open but he continues to lie down, yawning into the crook of his elbow. Klaus just groans and tries to pull the covers over his head.

Vanya points to the tiny TV, tuned onto a news channel where--where, _shit_ , their father is talking, talking about _them._ A red banner boasting _breaking news_ slides across the bottom of the screen.

“V,” Allison says, faintly, “Could you turn it up?”

Vanya does, and their father’s voice fills the room.

“Last night, something unfathomable happened. The Umbrella Academy, my _children_...” Here, he pauses, looking for all the world like a grieving father. Ben makes a noise of disgust in the back of his throat, and Five is inclined to agree. “My children were taken from their beds. Their rooms, torn apart. They put up a valiant fight, but in the end, they were overtaken. My son, Luther, was the only one these heathens did not attempt to kidnap, as they were clearly intelligent enough to know they would not succeed.”

From underneath his blanket, Klaus gags. 

“Unfortunately, our security cameras were destroyed. We have no idea who these dastardly villains are, or where they may have taken the children. It is my hope that together, as a community, we will be able to save the team that have so often saved _us._ ”

“Jesus Christ,” Diego mutters, dragging a hand down his face. 

“And now, my son Luther would like to speak.”

Allison lets out a choked little noise, and Five glances back to see tears welling up in her eyes. Diego settles a hesitant hand on her shoulder, which she covers with her own and squeezes. They all watch in horrified silence as Luther steps into view. He and Dad stand together on the steps of the Academy, cameras flashing. Luther’s eyes are red, and his shoulders are slumped forward, making their fearless big brother look impossibly small.

“My brothers and sisters were taken last night,” He starts, voice hoarse, “The intruders were so efficient that I didn’t even wake up, and I should have--I should have--” Luther cuts himself off, clears his throat. Dad rests his hand on Luther’s shoulder. What a load of shit, Five thinks. As if Dad actually cares about Luther, about any of them. “My siblings were taken off guard, but they’re strong. They will fight their way out. I just...hope I get to see them again. Please, if you hear anything, please--contact my father, the authorities. Just. Help me get my family back.”

The camera cuts away to an anchorwoman in a pantsuit, jabbering on about the history of The Umbrella Academy. Vanya clicks the television off, lets her arm fall limply against her side. Five reaches out and settles an arm around her shoulders, lets her lean her fragile weight against him. 

Klaus has since removed himself from his blanket cocoon, eyes wide, hand pressed against his mouth. He removes it just long enough to ask, “Do you think...is he faking it?”

Five’s mouth feels impossibly dry. He swallows thickly, says, “Luther’s not that good of a liar.”

Ben closes his eyes and sighs, very deeply. “Dad really just told the entire world, including our literal brother, that we were kidnapped.”

“Yep,” Diego says.

“Shit,” Ben says.

Five thinks, yeah. That sounds about right.

_do you understand that we will never be the same again?_


	3. the point of no return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys have been absolutely INCREDIBLE with your kudos and your comments i'm just absolutely shocked at how well-received this fic has been! thank you so much for all of your kind words!! i hope you enjoy!

_uh-oh, dancing past the point of no return.  
let go, we can free ourselves from all we've learned._

“We need to go back,” Allison says, voice cracked and tearful, “We have to go get him.”

Five turns around. Diego sits down gingerly beside Allison and awkwardly settles an arm around her shoulders. She pauses for a millisecond before abruptly burying her face into his shoulder. Diego sputters, spitting a few of her tight curls out of his mouth. He looks insanely uncomfortable but, Five notices, he doesn’t push her away. If anything, his grip tightens.

“Allison,” Five says tightly, “Allie, you know we can’t. Not right now.”

“Dad fucked us over big time,” Klaus adds cheerfully. He swats at something to his right that Five can’t see. “Stop trying to touch me! Jesus. I know I’m cute but--”

“He’s all alone and he’s going to blame himself,” Allison cries, muffled against Diego’s shoulder, “He already does.”

Five sits down on the bed opposite Allison, leans forward. Tries his best to keep his voice gentle. God, why does his family keep letting him talk to crying people? He doesn’t fucking know how. “The whole city is looking for us now, thanks to our father. If we just waltz in and grab Luther, he’s going to feel betrayed that we left him. He’s going to go running right back to Dad.”

Allison sits up, eyes red. “But Dad lied, too. At least we had a--a reason, I mean--”

“Our reason was that he wasn’t ready,” Five says calmly, “He won’t understand that, because he’s _not ready_. And Dad--”

“Aaah, Number One,” Klaus says, in his freaky Dad impersonation. He’s sprawled out like a starfish on the bed behind Five, fingers twisted lightly in the bottom of Five’s sleep shirt. “You must know that I only lied to protect you from the truth. My son, your siblings abandoned you in cold blood...”

Allison’s shoulders sag, and Five knows they’ve won this argument. It doesn’t feel like a victory. “We have to approach this carefully,” he says, almost pleadingly, “Klaus is right--”

“Can you say that again? I need to record that shit. Ben, you heard him, right, I’m not hallucinating--”

“--Dad would convince him we left with no intention of coming back,” Five raises his voice, drowning out Klaus’ rambling, “And with everyone on high alert, we’d be stuck the second we stepped foot in that house. Going back because of Luther is exactly what Dad’s hoping we’ll do.”

Vanya sits on the floor in front of the TV, digging around in her backpack. After a moment, she pulls out her little orange pill bottle. She shakes it, frowns. Peers inside. Based on her reaction, Five assumes that she only has a few left. Vanya takes one quietly, swallowing the pill dry just like Dad always made her, and puts the bottle back in her bag. She stares at her hands, flexing her fingers idly. She glances up to see Five already looking at her and tries for a smile. “It’ll be okay, Allison,” she says softly, and it sounds like a promise. 

Five almost believes her.

“I just feel so useless,” Allison whispers, staring at her hands in her lap. Ben settles on her other side and rests his head against her shoulder. She drops her head on top of his and sighs. “I wish there was something I could do to help.”

“Come with me to get food,” Five says. If she wants to help, she can help. Five would certainly appreciate it. “I saw a convenience store down the street on the drive over.”

“Ah, yes,” Klaus sighs dreamily. “We have to be properly fed and hydrated in order to complete our grand heist tonight.”

Five closes his eyes and counts to ten, grits his teeth, says, “It’s not a _heist_ , Klaus, it’s survival.”

“Are you trying to convince us, or yourself?” Diego asks, one eyebrow raised. He’s flicking one of his stupid knives open and closed, a bit too close to Allison’s hair for comfort.

“You’re more than welcome to walk around in schoolboy shorts and knee socks for the rest of your life, Diego,” Five snaps. Diego rolls his eyes but shuts his mouth, which is a favorable result in Five’s opinion. 

“Yeah,” Allison says, like none of them have even spoken. She’s good at ignoring her siblings like that. “I’ll go.”

“You gonna buy it or just stuff it under your shirts?” Diego asks lazily, flopping back onto the bed and sprawling out when Allison stands up. She kicks at his foot.

“Don’t be a idiot,” she says, “ _I’m_ going to get it.”

“That’s smart,” Klaus tells her conversationally, “Stuffing it under your shirt always gets you caught, _trust_ me. Not worth it.”

“Why are you the literal worst?” Ben asks, nudging Diego’s limp arm off of his lap.

“Allison, we have money,” Diego frowns, “Five said so.”

“But we don’t have a lot, and we should save it for emergencies,” Allison says. She softens her voice, adds, “God forbid something happens to any of us. We don’t have Mom or Pogo to patch us back up.”

Five sighs, because obviously he knows Allison is right, but Diego is still going to bitch about it. 

Like clockwork, Diego opens his mouth to argue. Allison holds up a hand, says, “Look, D, I know you don’t like this. None of us do--”

“I’m pretty okay with it,” Klaus offers. Ben throws a shoe at him.

“--but, unknowingly or not, this is what you signed up for when you left that house with us. You can go back, play Daddy’s second favorite for the rest of your life, or you can _grow up_ and realize that life isn’t as black and white as you were led to believe.”

No one speaks for a very long time. Five watches as Diego’s face goes from a funny shade of red to very, very pale. He drops his head in his hands, shoulders slumping. Ben frowns, reaches out to squeeze his knee. “Oh my god,” Diego mutters, “I sound like Luther, don’t I?”

Ben pats his knee comfortingly. “Yeah, buddy. You do.”

“It’s super annoying,” Klaus adds helpfully.

Vanya crawls the few feet between her and Diego and settles at his feet. “There’s nothing wrong with caring about other people.”

“We just have to put our family first,” Five says. Klaus scratches at his back comfortingly, leans over to send him a smile. Five nods, pats his knee, and stands up. “We need to get food. Allison?”

She nods, disappearing into the bathroom with her little pink backpack. Diego pushes himself up onto his elbows, asks, “Can you get Cool Ranch Doritos?” in such a mournful tone that Five can’t really say no. Kid’s been through a lot. They all have. They deserve Doritos.

“Yes, Diego,” Five sighs, “We will get Doritos.”

He and Allison try their best to look inconspicuous with the limited clothing they have to work with. Allison puts her hair up (which she hates) and dons a light grey sweater over her Academy skirt. Five leaves his button-up untucked over Klaus’ interview-approved slacks. He has to roll the bottoms up because Klaus is two inches taller than him and it never fails to piss Five off. Ben shoves a baseball cap on Five’s head and sends them off with a quiet, “Please be careful.”

They walk down the street with their heads down, trying their best to fade into the background. It feels strange, having to keep their eyes trained on the ground and their chins dipped low. They’re so used to attention; used to begging for it from Dad, craving it from Mom and Pogo, demanding it from the public. Five can barely remember a time when his life wasn’t ruled by press coverage, camera flashes blinding him behind his too-tight mask. 

He’d liked it, at first. Being let outside of the Academy was definitely a plus, and what twelve year old wouldn’t love a bunch of stranger telling them how amazing they are? It went straight to his head, to all of their heads. If they hadn’t banned together when they did, they would have fractured under the weight of finally being _seen_.

Allison holds tight to Five’s hand as the enter the store. It’s barely 8 am, and there’s no one around except for the kid looking bored behind the counter. The news plays silently on the TV behind him, replaying their father’s heartfelt speech on loop. Five shakes his head and leads Allison down the chip aisle. 

They grab everything they can, granola bars and jerky and poptarts, gatorade and peanut butter and three different kinds of Doritos because Diego likes Cool Ranch but Klaus likes the spicy ones and Ben will _only_ eat Nacho Cheese. When they’re done, they make their way to the front counter. Five follows Allison, sees her shoulders grow stiffer with every step they take.

“Hi,” she says sweetly, dropping her bounty in front of the cashier. Five dutifully drops his beside hers. 

The cashier smirks. “Got the munchies?” He starts to bag their groceries, and Five is perturbed to see that the cashier doesn’t even notice when he drops a heavy bottle of soda on top of their bread. Five wrinkles his nose and bites down his annoyance. No one likes squished bread.

“Something like that,” Allison smirks. Behind the cashier, a picture of them flashes onto the grainy TV screen. Allison freezes, and it’s enough to make the cashier look behind him. 

He frowns, squints, asks, “Hey, you kinda look--”

Five shoves the rest of the food into a half-filled bag, nods at Allison, and promptly jumps outside. He waits less than a minute before she’s scrambling out of the store, pieces of hair flying around her face wildly. She stops short in front of Five, eyes bright, says, “Holy shit. We just robbed a convenience store.”

Five hands her one of the bags. “Should have taken some cash from the register,” he says, glancing back at the shop consideringly. 

“Next time,” Allison waves him off, “But I did grab this.” She reaches under her sweater and pulls out a hair dye kit, adds, “Figured a disguise wouldn’t hurt.”

“Blonde hair, huh?” 

“I’ve been trying to get Dad to let me dye it for months.” She shrugs. “He can’t exactly say no anymore.”

“I think it’ll look nice,” Five tells her, which earns him the first genuine smile he’s seen on Allison’s face in a very long time.

Allison Hargreeves is America’s Sweetheart. Her face graces the cover of every teen magazine across the country, their insides revealing her skin care regiment and her makeup routine and how she puts up with all her pesky brothers. They want to know everything about her, except for the bad parts. The human parts. They would hate to hear about the time she screamed herself hoarse at Klaus for _daring_ to touch her nail polish. They would hate to hear how self-absorbed she can be, that she’s more sharp edges than soft smiles. Would they still love her if they knew how many times she used her power to get what she wanted, when Daddy wouldn’t see things her way or Pogo put his foot down?

Five knows these things. He knows them, and he loves his sister anyway.

Allison loops her free arm through Five’s and tugs him down the street. It’s not a particularly nice part of town, people peering at them suspiciously from front porches and through stained windows. A gunshot echoes, a few streets away. 

They quicken their pace. Not because they’re in danger, but because stray gunshots are no longer their problem.

Luther would be disgusted to see them walk away so casually. He would yell at them, probably, try to guilt them into turning around and helping. Use their powers for the “good of society.” But they’re sixteen, and they’re tired, and they don’t want to fight anymore.

Is it so wrong, so _immoral_ , to just want to be a kid? To not have to worry if they’ll be ending the next fight with one of their siblings dead?

Allison throws open the door to their motel room, chucks the hair dye into Klaus’ lap. “Help me dye it?” she asks, already on her way to the bathroom.

“Hell yeah,” Klaus says, scrambling off of the bed to follow her.

Ben looks up from his book. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Fuck you, I can read directions!”

“I didn’t know you could read at all,” Ben comments mildly, turning the page.

Klaus throws a cheerful middle finger over his shoulder. Five sets the bags down and steps out of the way just as his siblings descend on the food like rapid pigeons. He sits down on the floor, back against the wall, facing the direction of the door. Vanya settles down next to him, shoulder knocking against his amicably. She’s got a granola bar in one hand a can of Coke in the other. She offers him the Coke, and they listen as Ben and Diego bicker over where to hide the Oreos before Klaus realizes they have any.

“You’re low on your pills,” Five says conversationally.

Vanya ducks head head, takes a bite of granola. She chews slowly, and Five waits as she gathers her thoughts. He always does.

“I am,” Vanya agrees eventually, bare toes wiggle into the carpet. Five grimaces, because Klaus told them that three people died here and he doesn’t trust that the cleaning staff is competent enough to properly disinfect a crime scene. Vanya smiles wryly. “You know what’s funny?”

The red mark on her cheek has turned into a purple bruise overnight. Right now, Five doesn’t think he’s capable of thinking anything is funny. Not when his little sister looks like that. Still, he asks, “What?”

Allison’s giggle floats through the cracked bathroom door, followed by a loud splash. Vanya smiles at the sound, says, “I take these pills for my nerves, right? And they work spectacularly. I’m hardly ever nervous. But I’m hardly anything else, either.” She sighs wistfully, crumbles up the granola bar wrapper between her fingers. “The world is muted, which was fine when everything was terrible. But now, I finally get a chance to live. I want to do it fully. I want to feel everything, even the bad stuff, because I know I’ll be okay as long as you guys are there.”

Five isn’t good at emotions, but he is good at being Vanya’s brother. So he offers her a quiet smile, squeezes her free hand between them. “You’re the strongest person I know,” he tells her, and he means it.

“And you’re my best friend,” Vanya whispers back. Her smiles turns conspiratorial as she adds, “But don’t tell Ben.”

“Of course not,” Five promises.

They fall into a comfortable silence, sharing the Coke between them and watching, because observation is what they do best. They watch Diego absolutely devour a bag of Doritos, wiping his hands on his pants, which makes Vanya wrinkle her nose. They watch Ben finish an entire book in three hours, and Five calculates how many words he’s read a minute based on how often he flips the pages. 

Five hears the blow dryer going in the bathroom, hears Klaus and Allison laughing. If he closes his eyes, it almost feels like a Saturday afternoon at home. 

The bathroom door bangs open and Klaus waltzes out. “I’m going to cosmetology school when this shit blows over,” he announces, “Dying hair is so fucking fun and I’m like, kind of good at it? Allison looks great.”

Their sister appears in the doorway, freshly blonde and beaming. She doesn’t look like herself, mostly because she looks _happy_. She fluffs at her hair, shakes out her curls, asks, “What do you think?”

“You look so pretty,” Vanya tells her earnestly. 

“Nice,” Ben says, “You did a good job, Klaus.”

“It doesn’t make me want to throw up,” Diego offers, which causes both Klaus and Allison to throw the hair dryer and the empty dye bottle at him, respectively. 

Hours later, when the laughter has died down and the anxiety has set in, they exit the motel in a single file line. The silence is tense, fingers bunched up in each other’s clothes to steady and ground. They know the plan, but it’s weird to be on the other side. To be the ones stealing rather than the heroes maintaining order. It doesn’t bother Five all that much, but he knows Diego is freaked out and Vanya looks way out of her comfort zone. 

Under the cover of night, it’s much easier to sneak around. Once they hit the street, they go in pairs, Five jumping alone from alley to alley. Breese’s Department Store is only a few blocks away, and it’s ten minutes til close. He appears in front of the entrance just as Vanya and Klaus walk up, arm and arm. “Only take what you need,” Five says firmly, “We’re not total assholes.” Allison and Diego step out of the shadows, looking grim and determined.

“Right you are, Captain,” Klaus says cheerfully, saluting with his free hand. Vanya smacks his arm fondly.

Five rolls his eyes, grabs Allison, and jumps them both inside.

They end up crouched behind a rack of clothing. Two feet away, a retail worker dances to the pop song playing over the loudspeaker while she folds sweaters. Five takes a second to feel guilty before squashing it down ruthlessly. He has a job to do. 

He nudges Allison, who nods once. She moves quickly, quietly, whispers, “ _I heard a rumor that you cleared everyone out of the store and turned the security cameras off_ ,” before the worker can even register someone is behind her.

The worker nods, eyes glazing over. Allison returns to her spot beside Five and waits. A few minutes later, the retail worker returns. “Great job,” Allison says cheerily, “Now, _I heard a rumor that you let us take whatever we needed_.”

“Sure,” the worker says, turning on her heels. She returns to her sweater folding, humming under her breath. It’s kind of unnerving. 

Five jumps to the front door and unlocks it, lets his siblings inside. “Ten minutes,” he tells them, “Go.”

Klaus lets at a happy cackle and pushes inside, skipping towards the woman’s section with unrestricted glee. Ben sighs and follows after him, hands shoved deep in his pockets. Five doesn’t wait to see what Diego does, just jumps back to Allison and starts grabbing every sweater he can find. He steals one right out of the hands of the worker, who just smiles dazedly and picks up another one. 

Ben appears with plastic shopping bags, shoving a few at Five. “Klaus is having the time of his life,” Ben says, looking far too amused for Five’s liking.

“Please go watch him,” Five says, exasperated.

“I’m not going to stop him,” Ben snorts, but he disappears into the racks all the same. Five sighs and shoves his sweaters into one of the bags.

They meet by the back entrance at the end of their allotted ten minutes, arms laden with bags and boxes of shoes. Unsurprisingly, Klaus has the most, but Five doesn’t care enough to make him put anything back. Diego has a modest bag of what seems to be all-black clothing. He nods once, says, “Let’s get out of here.”

“How’s it feel to officially be a degenerate?” Klaus asks him brightly, following him out the back door. “Do you feel like a vigilante, yet? All dark and mysterious? Is that why you got all the black clothing?”

“Fuck off, Klaus,” Diego says, sounding bored.

“Oh my god, that’s _totally_ why you got the black clothing! Our little Batman!”

The street is mostly barren. It’s too late for the law-abiding citizens to be out and about, but too early for the seedy alleyway patrons to make their appearance. Still, there could be people looking out of windows, watching from their living rooms. This is the last time they’ll go out as a group, Five decides, then and there. Too many wandering eyes in the city. 

_Big Brother is watching_ , Five thinks humorlessly. 

_Dad_ is watching.

They get back to the motel room without any issues. It’s too easy. Five is on edge. He tries to focus on his siblings talking, comparing items, but it’s hard not to keep peeking out the window, to stop listening for sirens in the distance. They can’t possibly get away with this, can they?

“Hey, Five, look at this!”

Five turns, just in time to see Klaus pulling the top half of a mannequin out of one of his many, gigantic bags. Honestly, Five is impressed the Klaus’ scrawny noodle arms managed to carry that much. The mannequin, though? Confusing.

“What the fuck is that?” Five asks flatly.

Allison giggles behind her hand, hiding her face behind a new blouse. Klaus smiles proudly and presents the mannequin like a trophy. “Her name is Dolores. Isn’t she pretty?”

“No,” Five says, “Why the fuck did you take a mannequin?”

Klaus pats at her wig fondly. “I’m going to practice hair styling on her. You know, cutting and shit. I was serious about beauty school, I’d be fuckin’ great at it.”

Five closes his eyes and counts to ten. It does fuck all to calm him. 

“I told you to only take what you needed,” Five grits out, “And then I repeated it several times, in case you didn’t listen. Which, clearly, you did not.”

“I need her,” Klaus argues, continuing to pet the fucking mannequin like it’s a dog or something, “She’s going to jumpstart my career.”

“I think she’s very pretty,” Ben says, patting Klaus’ hand. He’s wearing what Five can only assume is one of Klaus’ very new, very sparkly jumpsuits. 

“Oh my god,” Diego grumbles, flopping back onto the bed beside Klaus. Klaus takes this as his cue to press Dolores’ face against Diego’s and make kissy noises, while Diego sputters and shoves at him. 

Five rolls his eyes and rubs a hand down his face. Breese’s is now missing half a mannequin. He hopes to God they just chalk it up as a teenage prank, and don’t connect it to the staggering amount of clothes they are now missing combined with the lack of security footage from closing time. 

He lifts his head, turns toward the window, and--

Someone is standing outside.

In the parking lot, by the dumpster. There is a man standing in a suit, kicking at the ground. He is average height, a little stockier than most, with brown hair. He was not there before. 

Five shakes his head. Maybe he’s just being paranoid. Of course there are other people staying in the motel. Maybe he’s just a shady businessman here with his mistress, stepping out to have a cigarette. 

He looks back up, and the man is no longer there. Five blinks once, twice. Squints. 

It’s fine, he tries to tell himself, but there is a sinking feeling in his gut that’s telling him things are about to get a lot more difficult.

_let's embrace the point of no return._


	4. interlude: luther

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i very nearly named this chapter "interlude-ther" so uh you're welcome for not doing that. as always, your comments and kudos have been so incredibly kind and i'm grateful for each and every one of you!!! have some luther feels you neither asked for nor wanted!!

__

_i'm afraid somebody else might take my place_

When Luther wakes up, he knows something is wrong.

The sun is shining through the crack in the curtains, casting a thin stream of light across his bed. The house is quiet. No running water to signal Klaus’ morning monopoly of the bathroom, no humming from Allison next door. 

He feels disoriented, off-kilter from those few extra hours of sleep. His head fogs up like the window panes in winter. The clock on the wall says 9:34, but that can’t be right. It’s a weekday, and the schedule dictates that Mom wakes them up at 6:45 am. Breakfast is at 7:00. Lateness is not tolerated.

Luther sits up abruptly, tries to shake his head clear. A knock on the door causes him to startle. “Come in, Mom,” he calls, voice rough from sleep. Mom is the only one who bothers to knock. Allison waltzes in as she pleases, and the rest of his siblings never make it this far down the hallway. He can hear them laughing, sometimes, giggling with each other through the walls. 

Sometimes, on his bad days, his _weaker_ days, he catches himself wishing he could join them.

(He never does.)

The door creaks open and Mom enters, hands folded neatly over her apron. Her smile is pasted on, strained at the edges. She takes a deep, unnecessary breath, says, “Good morning, sweetheart.” Her voice breaks, just a single crack, and Luther frowns. “Your father would like to see you in his office before breakfast.”

Luther stands up, forces his legs to carry him across the room. Mom watches him, and there’s something strange behind her eyes. He stops in front of her, just a few inches between them. Her smile turns softer, more genuine. She reaches up and presses a hand to his cheek, thumb moving lightly across his chin. 

He’s always been amazed at how warm she feels, how _real_.

“Oh, Luther,” Mom sighs, expression going distant, “My little lion.”

Luther swallows, the pit in his stomach growing by the second. The door behind her is open. He keeps waiting to hear the pad of bare feet against hardwood, his siblings yawning and complaining and just generally making their presence known. They’re so _loud_ , all the time, Klaus’ cackling laughter and Five’s sardonic remarks and Diego’s grumbling.

Now, all Luther can hear is the haunting absence of sound and his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

“Mom?” Luther asks, voice a little wobbly. He allows himself to show weakness in front of her and her alone. Her code says _protect_ , says nurture, says love. She is warm, and safe, and Luther likes to think that Dad programmed her this way to give them what he couldn’t.

Mom snaps awake, shakes her head. “Silly me,” she says softly, withdrawing her hand. Luther misses it as soon as it's gone. “Come along, darling. You know your father hates to be kept waiting.”

She turns away, heels clicking as she goes. Luther follows her on reflex, ground into him after years of following orders without question. The perfect soldier, Dad always tells him, and he sounds proud when he says it which means it must be a good thing.

So why does it leave a sour taste in Luther’s mouth whenever he hears it? Why do the others look at him with such pity in their eyes?

All of the doors are closed, which is strange. His siblings have an open door policy with each other, and they can often be found invading each others’ spaces whenever time allows. The morning is especially chaotic, with Five tieing Klaus’ tie and Allison brushing Vanya’s hair and Ben shouting for Diego to hurry up because Mom _always_ gives Diego an extra five minutes of sleep.

Mom walks faster, and Luther clambers to keep up. Pogo meets them just outside of Dad’s office, looking grim and desolate. He nods at Luther once and motions for him to enter. 

Luther stands at attention in front of his father’s desk. Dad sits, scribbling madly in his notebook, and does not look up for a long time. Dad does not like to be kept waiting, but he is perfectly willing to delay everyone else until the stars turn to dust or the sun explodes. Whichever comes first.

“Number One,” his father says, finally. He looks up, and sighs, and sets his glasses on a stack of books. “Something terrible has happened.”

Luther’s blood runs cold. “Where is everyone else?” he asks, and it’s a clear display of disobedience. He is not to speak unless asked a direct question. He knows this, hates when Five talks out of turn just to watch the way Dad’s face turns red, but he can’t think outside of the panic clawing its way up his throat.

Dad levels him with a stern look but does not reprimand him, which Luther is grateful for. “Last night, there was an attack on The Academy. Numbers Two through Seven were stolen from their beds. The security footage was destroyed, but their rooms show signs of struggle.”

“Stolen,” Luther repeats, mostly to himself. His brain seems to have stopped working. 

“Yes,” Dad agrees mildly. “I can only assume they did not attempt to take you because they were intelligent enough to understand you would overtake them easily.”

A sick sort of pride swells in Luther’s chest, but it is squashed firmly beneath the knowledge that his family is _gone_. He grapples with the information, tries to make sense of it. Something isn’t adding up. 

Luther knows his strength does not lie in his intelligence; that’s all Five and Ben and Vanya, but even he can tell that something isn’t right. There were signs of a struggle, so why did Luther sleep through the attack? How were these intruders able to sneak up on five super powered teenagers? Vanya, he could see, even Klaus, maybe, but the rest? Allison, who can bend reality with a single phrase? Ben, who houses literal monsters under his skin? Five, who can _teleport?_

“Dad,” he says, “How?”

His father sighs, exasperated. He does not like to be questioned. “I have already informed you that--”

“Five can teleport,” Luther interrupts, “Couldn’t he have just...jumped to my room, or yours? Gotten backup?”

“I can only assume that Number Five and the rest of your siblings were incapacitated,” Dad snaps. He’s angry, now. It’s visible in the taught set of his shoulders, the vein bulging in his temple. Luther has gone too far, forgotten his place. “You children are not infallible, no matter how much unearned confidence saturates your siblings’ very beings. For far too long, they have pushed and tested at their limitations. It seems that their hubris finally caught up to them.”

Behind them, Pogo coughs lightly. Dad sits back abruptly, folds his hands in his lap. “Number Five’s unfailing loyalty has always been his greatest weakness. He would rather go down with a sinking ship than save himself. Had he regained his ability to teleport at any point throughout the debacle, I would assume he simply refused to leave the rest of the children’s side.” Dad points a spindly finger at Luther. “Let this be a lesson to you, Number One. _Love_ ,” he spits the word like a curse, “is incapacitating. It is frailty, and it will be your undoing if you allow it.”

He dismisses Luther without another word, just a wave of the hand. Luther knows he deserves it. He spoke out of turn. He was rude, inexcusably so. Mom reaches a hand out as he passes, but he shakes her off. He does not deserve her kindness.

The house is quiet. Luther sits in his room, and he does not think of things that don’t add up. 

__

_being me can only mean feeling scared to breathe  
and if you leave me then i'll be afraid of everything_


	5. going forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i am absolutely astounded by how wonderful you are. every comment and kudos means the world to me!! have some five and klaus bonding because they're my fav siblings and i mcfreakin love writing them

_don’t wanna wait for permission. we’ve got our own fresh set of rules._

Five doesn’t sleep that night.

He stays put, stares through the grimy window panes until his eyes are so dry they burn. One by one, his siblings fall asleep, but Five makes himself to stay awake through sheer force of will. If anyone else pops into existence outside of their room, he will know, and he will handle it. 

Dolores the Mannequin stares at him with baleful eyes from her careful perch on the mini-fridge. Five scoffs. “Don’t look at me like that,” he mutters under his breath.

“You really have lost it, huh?” Klaus yawns, stretching dramatically. He props himself up on one arm, lets his head loll to the side, fixes Five with a concerned little frown.

Five sighs. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

Klaus attempts a grin. “Oh, come on, you know that’s never really an option for me.” His tone is light, airy, but his words sink like a stone in Five’s stomach. “A prostitute was murdered next door, did you know? Of course you didn’t, I never told you. She’s quite loud.” His eyes stray to the corner of the room, just outside the bathroom. “The ghosts in this room are pretty chill, all things considering.”

Five takes a deep breath, makes himself reach out. Klaus will be miles away inside his own head without something to ground him. So Five pats Klaus’ ankle lightly, lets his hand settle and stay there. “Yeah?” he asks, prompting. Talking helps Klaus process. If that means Five has to sit through a few too many gruesome descriptions, well. So be it. He can handle it, if it helps his brother find some semblance of peace.

Klaus nods, lets his eyes twitch back towards Five. “Yeah,” he echos, fingers twisted tightly in the sheets. His expression goes a little distant. “Two brothers and a little sister. They were on vacation.”

Five watches as the corners of Klaus’ mouth quirk up in a solid attempt at a smile. It falls flat, because Klaus is tired and stressed out beyond belief and underneath all of his bravado, he is so _deeply_ affected by the death that follows him, omnipresent and suffocating. Klaus has always been far too empathetic for his own good. There’s a light in him that their dad never quite managed to stop out, hard as he tried. And God, did he try.

He very nearly succeeded, too. Five sometimes see flashes off the Klaus that could have been if--if he’d has less support, maybe. If the twisted little field trips to the mausoleum continued. Bitter little laughs and jokes just this side of nasty, of mean-spirited. Vicious outbursts, spurred on by withdrawal and stress and the lingering scent of rotting flesh.

Five never holds it against him. None of them are without their demons, and Klaus has the added bonus of being screamed at by his every second of the day.

“You should try to get some sleep,” Five says quietly. Briefly, he looks over his shoulder, out the window. He’s been distracted for too long. Someone could have slipped by, unnoticed. “We’re going to have to move tomorrow.”

A tiny crease appears between Klaus’ eyebrows. “You saw something.” It’s not a question.

Five sighs. He twists in his seat, angles himself toward the outside world. “Someone,” he admits, “But I can’t tell if it’s just me being paranoid, or something we should take seriously.”

Klaus is silent for a moment, long enough that Five glances back to make sure he’s alright. Klaus stares right back, eyes boring into Five’s with a seriousness that only seems to shine through in the dead of night. “I trust your gut,” Klaus says, like it’s that simple. “If you think we should move, we’ll move. Probably shouldn’t stay in the same spot for too long, anyway.”

Five swallows, nods. Takes a second. He wishes he could be just a little more like Klaus, because even after years of being beaten down and then kicked while he was still lying on the concrete, he’s still so open with his love, his trust. Five tries, he tries _so hard_ , but the words get stuck in his throat and choke him.

He hopes his siblings get it anyway. He hopes they know.

When he looks back, Klaus is smiling. He throws the blankets off of himself and clambers out of bed, careful not to wake Diego, who is sound asleep beside him. He deposits himself in the empty chair across from Five, contorts himself until he’s sitting with his knees up to his chest, shins pressed against the little table between them. 

“You should try to get some sleep,” Five says again, though he knows its a lost cause.

“Do you know the real reason I took Dolores?” Klaus asks, apropos of nothing. Behind him, Dolores stares into Five’s very soul with the blankest of eyes. Five shivers, and Klaus grins. “She’s possessed.”

Five’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. “Excuse me?”

“She’s possessed,” Klaus repeats, as if Five didn’t hear him the first time. “People think that only demons can possess shit, but any spirit can get attached to an object. Use it to tether themselves to this mortal realm.” He wiggles his fingers at Five, makes a little _ooing_ noise that leaves Five struggling to suppress a laugh. “Lovely little Dolores is one of those spirits. She was an aspiring model back in the forties. The golden days, you know? Died of a drug overdose.” Klaus presses a hand to his own heart. “Kindred spirits, huh?”

Five frowns, hard. “Klaus.”

Klaus waves him off, rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” he sighs, slumping forward a little. He makes a face, wags his finger, adds, “Overdosing is serious, Klaus--” in what Five assumes is supposed to be a crude imitation of him.

Five tries to roll his eyes, tries to snort or huff or give whatever exasperated reaction Klaus is probably expecting right about now. Instead, he just sort of. Sighs. Rubs a hand down his face. “You died,” Five says, and it’s muffled through his fingers. “Twice. Do you know how that felt?”

“No,” Klaus says. His voice is small. “I was dead.”

“It felt like getting a limb ripped off,” Five says bluntly. “So forgive me if I don’t find your jokes all that _funny_.”

When Five looks back at his brother, Klaus is chewing on his bottom lip and very pointedly avoiding his eyes. He laughs once, a sharp, startled thing that makes Vanya shift in her sleep. “Way to make a guy feel like a real asshole,” he says, weaves his arms around his legs and hold tight.

“You are an asshole,” Five tells him easily.

Klaus offers a watery little smile. It’s tiny, but it’s genuine. “Yeah.” A pause, and then, “Hey, hey, Five. Was I an arm or a leg?”

“Oh my God,” Five mutters. He closes his eyes and sighs again, deeply and dramatically. Klaus cracks a grin and reaches across the table to try and pinch at Five’s cheeks. Five swats his hand away, disgruntled and a little fond. “So,” he says, “Your possessed mannequin?”

“She has a crush on you,” Klaus says. He turns to the mannequin, adds, “Oh, hush. He’s my brother, you really thought I wouldn’t tell him?”

“She has a crush on me,” Five repeats, flat and deeply unimpressed. He sends a wary look at the mannequin--the woman? The ghost? Klaus cackles.

“That she does, little brother--”

“Klaus, we’re the same age--”

“Thinks you look like Bing Crosby in certain lights, she’s really a big fan. Hey, you’re pretty good at singing, you should totally try to--”

“No.”

They sit there for hours, cracking quiet jokes and trading harmless little jabs until the morning comes. Five closes his eyes for a moment and wakes up with the sun a little lower in the sky, neck bent at an awkward angle. Dolores the Mannequin is positioned opposite him, taking Klaus’ place at the other end of the tiny table. Five startles, squints at her. She stares back.

“Sleeping beauty is awake!” Klaus announces, from somewhere to Five’s right. A to-go cup of coffee is placed in front of him, steaming through the little opening. It smells like heaven.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Allison sing-songs, dropping gracefully onto the bed nearest to him. She sits on the edge, crosses her legs. “We figured you could use a pick-me-up in the form of caffeine, since you stayed up all night keeping watch like a weird little gargoyle.”

Five frowns at the cup, furrows his brow. “You risked our location for coffee?”

Allison rolls her eyes, takes a long sip of her own drink. “I think the correct response was, _thank you, Vanya, for taking the long, treacherous walk across the street to provide my ungrateful ass with coffee._ ”

This does absolutely nothing to calm Five’s frayed nerves. “Vanya went by _herself?_ ”

Vanya gently removes Dolores from her perch and takes her spot. She rolls her eyes, kicks at Five’s foot under the table, says, “ _Vanya_ can handle herself, thank you very much.”

“I never said you couldn’t,” Five shoots back immediately, “You are a very capable individual. But nobody should be travelling alone right now.”

“I’m the only one who isn’t at risk of being recognized,” Vanya points out.

“That’s not what--”

“Five saw someone last night,” Klaus announces, scooping Dolores off of the floor and spinning in a wide circle. He very nearly crashes into Diego, who reaches out and steadies Klaus before they both go tumbling to the ground. Klaus smiles brilliantly at him, pats him on the cheek lightly, spins away.

“Who did you see?” Diego asks, voice just this side of urgent.

“Well, gee, I didn’t get a chance to stop and ask his name,” Five snaps. He takes a long sip of his coffee, because he knows that making Diego wait will annoy the shit out of him. 

Sure enough, Diego takes an agitated step forward and points his finger in Five’s face. Five hopes his expression conveys just how unimpressed he is. “You’re not in charge, here,” Diego says, “You can’t just--just withhold information from us.”

“I told Klaus,” Five reminds him calmly. “The rest of you were asleep. I was going to tell you when you all woke up, but it appears I fell asleep before I got the chance.”

“Five is not, in fact, a robot,” Ben adds helpfully, barely even looking up from his book. Klaus makes Dolores kiss the crown of his head, and Ben reaches up without looking to pat at her hair. “As much as he would like to forget he requires basic human maintenance, he _does_ need to sleep occasionally.”

“Family isn’t supposed to be a competition,” Allison says quietly, and Diego deflates, just a little. “You don’t have to fight for scraps anymore. We all have an equal vote in where we go next.”

Klaus raises his hand. “Can I give Five my vote? Feels like a lot of responsibility.”

Diego sighs deeply, pinches the bridge of his nose. Vanya blows out a breath, asks, “What did you see, Five?”

“I saw a man outside by the dumpster,” Five says, “He was wearing a suit. A little stocky, gelled brown hair. Then I blinked, and he was gone.”

Allison frowns behind her coffee cup. “Five,” she starts, stops. Contorts her face into something close to sympathy. “That doesn’t mean--”

“I know,” Five snaps. Takes a breath. “I know,” he says again, a little softer. “It could just be paranoia. But--but my gut is telling me it’s not.”

Klaus pauses in braiding Dolores’ long brown wig long enough to add (rather helpfully, in Five’s opinion), “Paranoia or not, we should probably move anyway. We’ll get caught if we stay in the same place too long.”

“Okay,” Vanya says, her eyes never leaving Five’s, “Okay. Let’s move.”

Ben makes a noise of vague approval (at least, Five thinks he does) and turns to the next page of his novel. Diego nods, mostly to himself, says, “We should wait ‘til nightfall.”

“We have a lot more now than what we left with,” Allison points out, picking nervously at the cardboard sleeve around her cup. “It’s going to be difficult to take a cab with all these bags.”

“And Dolores,” Klaus adds.

“And Dolores,” Allison concedes.

“Sounds like we need to steal a car,” Ben says casually. Diego sends him an exasperated look, which Ben meets head on with a quirked eyebrow. “What? We’re going to need one eventually. Teleporting all of us hurts Five, so that’s out--”

“With enough practice, I’m sure I could--” Five starts to protest, but Ben turns toward him with such an impressive glare that Five feels himself fall silent. Huh. The student has become the master. Five would feel proud if this new development wasn’t so incredibly inconvenient for him.

“It’s out,” Ben says, and his tone leaves no room for argument. Vanya pats Five’s hand consolingly, mild smile gracing her face. “We need to move ourselves and our shit in a way that is inconspicuous and easy. The natural solution to that problem would be to acquire a car. And since we don’t have a enough money, we have to take one.”

“When Ben says it, it sounds legit,” Klaus says, “We should just let Ben explain everything.”

“None of us can even drive!” Diego argues, but it’s half-hearted at best. He knows he’s lost. 

Ben stares at him blankly, says, “We’re smart. We’ll figure it out.” He pats the bed next to him, adds, “For now, Five needs to sleep.”

“I’m fine,” Five says, an automatic response. He’s spent so long ignoring his body’s signals that he’s not even sure if it’s true. He waves his coffee, adds, “I have been provided with caffeine.”

“That’s not enough caffeine to keep you awake and we both know it,” Ben shoots back. He pats the bed a little more insistently. “Your body is still recovering from overexertion. Sleep or I’ll make you.”

Five snorts. “You can’t make me do anything.”

Ben raises one eyebrow. “Can’t I?”

Five narrows his eyes before deciding he’d rather not test that, if he can help it. Either Ben will break out the puppy dog eyes or the literal eldritch monsters in his chest, and Five honestly doesn’t know which one would be worse.

He drags himself across the room, glaring and grumbling the whole while, and drops down beside Ben. “I slept,” he tries to argue, a last ditch effort.

Ben rolls his eyes. “You slept for two hours. Klaus tried to move you to the bed and you teleported two feet to the left, and then back into your chair.”

Five frowns. “I don’t remember that.”

“Probably because you’re exhausted,” Ben says slowly, like Five just isn’t getting it. If it were anyone else, Five would have jumped away from this conversation immediately, but it’s Ben, so he listens. “and your powers are malfunctioning as a result of pushing yourself too hard and then _not getting any rest_.” He grabs Five by the shoulder and gently pushes him down until his head hits the pillow.

“Oh my god, fine,” Five groans. His limbs feel heavy, weighted and sinking into the softness of the mattress. “Wake me up in an hour.”

“Okay,” Ben agrees, far too easily.

“Ben.”

“ _Okay._ ”

Five turns his head to the side, says, “Vanya, please wake me up in an hour.”

“Don’t you trust me?” Ben demands, half-hearted at best. There’s a fond little smile on his face, and he shoves lightly at Five’s shoulder.

“Not as far as I can throw you,” Five tells him.

“Ouch. I mean, you do have astoundingly skinny arms--”

A pillow hits Ben in the face with startling accuracy, and Five feels content enough to let himself fall asleep without any further complaints.

-

When Five wakes up, it’s dark outside. Shit. Definitely more than an hour.

He blinks into the nighttime, the moon casting shadows across the room. His cheek is smushed up against something warm. There are fingers playing with his hair, and it feels nicer than Five will ever admit out loud.

A voice above him stage-whispers, “Are you awake?”

“Klaus?” Five asks blearily. “What time issit?”

“Around 10 at night. You’ve been conked out all day, baby brother.”

“We’re the same age,” Five mutters, shoving pointedly at Klaus’ knee. He does not move away, because Klaus is comfortable and smells like lavender. “You smell good.”

“Why, thank you, darling. I took a nice, long bath right before we had to extricate Ben from your death grip. You’re a cuddly little monster when you’re asleep, did you know? It’s downright adorable.”

“Where is Ben?” A pause, and then, “Where is everyone else?”

“Oh, you know,” Klaus says breezily, despite the fact that Five most definitely does not know, “They went out to steal a car.”

“What--”

The door opens, and their siblings come tumbling in in a flurry of flailing hands and stray giggles. Someone shushes them, keys jingling against skin. Five pushes himself up, squinting into the darkness. Vanya closes the door behind them and turns to Five with a beaming smile. 

“I drove us home,” she says, eyes bright.

Ben throws the keys up and catches them again, knocks his elbow against Vanya’s arm good-naturedly. Allison presses a smacking kiss to the top of Vanya’s head, hugging her from behind and squeezing tight. “How’d you get so talented?” she asks, swaying with Vanya in her arms, chin digging into the top of her sister’s head.

Vanya only smiles impossibly wider. It loosens a knot in Five’s chest that he hadn’t realized was even there. 

Diego flops onto the nearest bed, looking pained. Klaus shoots him a shit-eating grin, asks, “How’s the vigilantism going, Number Two?”

“I only went to make sure they stayed safe,” Diego says tightly.

“Oh, please,” Allison snorts, “You were begging us to let you drive.”

“Sh-shut up!”

Five blinks a few times. Shakes his head. “How the hell did you get a car?” And then, when the indignation sets in, “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You looked so sweet sleeping, we couldn’t wake you,” Allison pouts, the asshole.

“Besides, it wasn’t that exciting,” Ben says, “We basically just walked into a used car dealership and Rumored the salesman into giving us a car for free. Then, we switched license plates so the car would be harder to track if anybody noticed it was, um. Unaccounted for.”

Allison shrugs. “Seemed like a lot less work than hot-wiring a random car off the street.”

Diego makes a vague gesture in Five’s general direction. “Get up. We packed your shit. Gotta get to a new motel before your paranoid little brain explodes.”

They pile into the minivan--the _minivan_ , his siblings picked out a _minivan_ \--ten minutes later, with their shit thrown into the back haphazardly. Dolores sits proudly between Allison and Diego, buckled into the middle seat with care. Ben and Klaus spread listlessly across the very back seat, limbs thrown across each other without a care. Five had teleported into the passenger seat before anyone could say anything about shotgun, and Vanya sits proudly behind the wheel.

The radio plays some cheesy eighties song that Five kept on at Klaus’ request, the windows cracked just enough that the fall breeze bites at Five’s cheeks. 

“ _We belong to the light, we belong to the thunder!_ ” Klaus sing-screams, using his hairbrush as a microphone. Ben headbangs beside him, despite the song not being particularly headbang worthy. “ _We belong to the sound of the words we’ve both fallen under!_ ”

The streets pass by in a blur, lights and sounds muted from behind the anonymity of the van. Behind him, Klaus sings and Ben laughs and Diego sways and Allison smiles. Vanya starts to hum under her breath, shoots Five a happy little grin.

Five looks forward, and he lets himself breathe.

_lost boys, lost girls, don’t hand over the future_

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! please let me know if you liked it :)


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